


The Zed Files

by BitShifter



Category: The Avengers (1960s British TV)
Genre: Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-22
Updated: 2008-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:28:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitShifter/pseuds/BitShifter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steed uses his brain. Emma becomes an alien.</p><p>The fifteenth in a series.<br/>Something strange is happening in Rendlesham Forest, involving UFOs, supercomputers, and a glowing green substance...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The New Bletchley Park

**Disclaimer:** Some characters have been borrowed 

**June 1965**

The tunnel was long, damp, and completely dark. A man moved stealthily against one wall, blindly feeling his way until his eyes detected a green glow coming from the end of the stone passage. He continued to cling to the shadows as he approached the entrance to a massive chamber. 

The glow was coming from tinted lamps suspended high overhead, shining down into a room filled with row upon row of reclining leather couches. Each one was occupied by a motionless figure wearing a helmet connected by a hose to a nearby canister. The exposed skin at the neck and hands shimmered fluorescent green under the lights. 

The man carefully raised a pair of field glasses that hung from a strap around his neck. Focusing on the nearest couch, he pressed a secret detent on the side of the binoculars. The whir and click of a high-speed reflex camera echoed through the cavern, automatically adjusting for longer exposure due to the dim light. 

The sound energized all of the figures, who turned their heads in frighteningly synchronized unison to look at the intruder. The being on the nearest couch suddenly rose, the hose from his helmet disconnecting with a hiss. He was humanoid, with two arms and two legs. The spy lowered the field glasses from his face and ran back down the tunnel. The alien figure followed close behind, moving quickly in spite of the bulky helmet. 

The man reached the grass-covered trapdoor that led to the field outside. He exhaled with relief as he pushed through and sprinted out into the starlit night. Ahead of him was the forest edge, and safety. His pursuer would not be able to catch him in time. 

Without warning, an eerie sphere pulsating with light descended towards the meadow in front of him, blocking his escape route. The silhouettes of two more figures were visible against the glow where it landed. The fleeing man hurriedly removed the field glasses from around his neck as he veered at an angle to avoid capture. The sudden movement caused him to trip on a stone, and the secret camera flew far from his grip. 

The alien figure in the helmet loomed over him as the trapped man attempted to scramble across the grass. The other two enemies closed in, and the cornered spy watched in horror as one of them produced a glowing vial from the pocket of his jumpsuit. All three men held the intruder captive as they forced the luminescent green liquid down his throat. 

In a flash of insight, everything became clear to him. 

-oOo-

Emma was on her knees in the center of Steed's living room. She was dressed stylishly, clad in a curve-hugging black knit catsuit with leather accents that set off the highlights in her auburn hair. 

"Spumante," she called. "Come here." 

The wire-haired fox terrier turned its head contrarily, ignoring her summons. Emma sternly shook her finger at him. 

"Not Asti," she scolded. "Spumi." 

Steed poked his head in from the kitchen. "Still trying to teach an old dog a new nick?" he said. 

"This dog is absolutely impossible," Emma responded. "Completely undisciplined. He's worse than you." 

"My, that _is_ bad," Steed grinned as he walked to the sideboard. "Here, boy." 

The dog trotted over and jumped onto the back of the sofa. He stood shoulder high to Steed and wagged his tail. 

Emma smirked, "He always did like you best." 

"I thought you sent him away to Swansea with Rita," Steed smiled as he patted the dog's head. 

"He's back on holiday," she said curtly. 

Steed ruffled the fur on the terrier's neck and chucked him on the chin. "Having a good holiday, are we?" 

The dog barked joyously. Then, as if feeling contrite for deserting Emma, the terrier hopped back onto the floor and sat at her feet. She absently stroked the dog's side, causing him to roll over on his back. 

"Why did you ask me—er, I mean us," she said, acknowledging the dog's snort, "to come over?" 

Steed walked up behind her and knelt down so that his cheek was pressed against hers. "There are, shall we say, certain types of security incidents which cannot be explained with currently-known science," he began. 

Emma arched her eyebrows with interest. "Go on." 

He stood up again as he moved over to the liquor cart. "The clerks file them at the very back of the cabinet, behind everything else. That's why they call them 'The Zed Files', because they wind up right after the last folder." 

"Plenty of other things begin with zed," Emma countered. "Like The Zanzibar Rebellion, The Zoetrope Murders, zoological attacks... and don't forget the Zagadka decoder." 

"Are you questioning the Ministry's filing system?" 

"I'm just saying they could have filed them under a letter that never has any action, like 'X'." 

Steed smiled. "The Xylophone Caper, The X Creature, Professor Xerxes...," he offered. 

"Still, fewer than zed." Emma suddenly wrinkled her mouth. "The Xylophone Caper?" 

"Actually, they were really after the mallets," Steed deadpanned. He poured a small amount of brandy into two snifters. "The Ministry wanted me to thank you personally for your role in acquiring the top secret Zagadka decoder machine." 

Emma stood up next to him, crossing her arms in an expression of defiance. "Does that mean they've rescinded the 'kill-on-sight' order they issued for me as a KGB spy?" she asked pointedly. 

Steed grinned as he bowed slightly and spread his hands in an expansive gesture. "It would seem ungallant not to." He handed her one of the drinks. "The boys at Bletchley Park were particularly pleased." 

"Bletchley?" 

"The headquarters of our codebreakers during the War, ostensibly shut down in the late forties, but now gone underground. Highly secret. I could be hung just for mentioning the name to you," Steed said glibly. "If anyone asks, I'll pretend it was a sneeze." He covered his mouth and sneezed out, "Bletchley!" 

"Gesundheit. So they've decoded some KGB messages?" 

"They figure they probably have a window of ten days before the Russians realize it's missing and change the code wheels." He raised the snifter and took a sip. "Unfortunately, the first thing they deciphered was that the Supreme Soviet knows our Hazard Codes." 

Emma snapped to attention, and even the dog on the floor perked up his ears. "Hazard codes?" she asked. 

"Nuclear activation sequences, used to arm the atomic weapons on an RAF jet," Steed explained. "Distributed daily using an advanced logarithmic cipher." 

"I've never heard of such a system." 

He nodded. "Very hush-hush. No one's even published a paper about it yet." He refilled his glass, noting she hadn't taken a sip from hers. "It's a formula we got from the Yanks—nearly impossible to calculate for decoding unless you have the secret key." 

"Sounds like the key is not so secret," Emma observed. 

"Indeed. So the Ministry did a test—they used a random secret key and sent out bogus codes that no RAF station could descramble, just to see what would happen. A few hours later, they used the Zagadka to decrypt a message. Sure enough, the Russians knew the phony Hazard Codes." 

"A leak?" 

"Not unless the Prime Minister himself handed out the key." 

"So you bring me an unsolvable riddle." She finally sipped at her brandy. 

"Not unsolvable," Steed reminded her. "There is an explanation." He leaned in close to her ear. "Notice I said _nearly_ impossible to decode. Given a big enough computer, the secret key could theoretically be calculated." 

A smirk tugged at Emma's mouth. "I would focus your search on someone who owns a very large slide rule." 

"The most powerful computer we have in the United Kingdom is the Colossus Mark VII at Bletchley," he continued. "It uses transistors instead of vacuum tubes. Can perform complex calculations in seconds." 

Emma extended her glass to him and jiggled it, demanding a refill. "So you think someone here in England has got hold of one of these... Colossi?" 

"There's only one," Steed said. "And even so, it would need to be several hundred times faster to perform the calculations in our lifetime." 

"Perhaps some group has built their own computer, a faster one," she offered. 

"Building a computer of that size would leave some sort of traces—electronics purchases or out-of-the-ordinary power consumption." Steed handed her a generous second-helping of brandy, clearly signaling the start of his sales pitch to enlist her aid in another one of his adventures. "The descrambled Hazard Codes were coming out of a backwater place in Suffolk called Brindleshire." 

Emma looked at him cautiously, alert to his tricks. "And why is this a—what did you call it—a 'Zed File'?" 

He grinned and let a moment of silence pass before delivering his hook. 

"Last week, there was a report from Suffolk of an unidentified glowing craft that landed near a bog just outside of Rendlesham Forest." 

Emma looked as if she was resisting a magnetic field as she turned away from him, feigning disinterest. "I didn't read anything in the papers." 

"It's been hushed up," he replied. "RAF's Bentwaters and Woodbridge are calling it a hoax, though they both reported radar contacts." 

Emma turned to stand directly in front of Steed and folded her arms. She tilted her head as she looked into his eyes. 

"Are you suggesting that someone's got hold of a computer from outer space?" 

"That's one possibility," Steed said with exaggerated seriousness. 

"Or maybe it's just a time-traveler from the future?" she chided. 

"Now you're getting into the spirit of it!" he cheered jovially. 

Emma snorted in skepticism. "Looks like Spumi's going to get to visit Suffolk," she announced. 

Steed pressed close to her. "We're taking the dog?" 

"Remember?" Emma teased. "He was struck by lightning. You're the one who referred to him as a 'paranormal dowsing rod'." 

"Did I?" Steed grinned. "Then by all means, you'll need his help." 

-oOo-

The terrier's back paws were shuffling for purchase on the front seat of the Bentley as he leaned against the center of the windscreen. Steed was guiding the car back to Mrs. Peel's apartment so she could pack for the trip. All three were silent for a moment; then Steed glanced sideways at Emma and cleared his throat uncertainly. Emma, attuned to his manners, turned to face him. 

"Go ahead," she prompted. "Have out with it." 

Steed smiled. "Before you leave, they want to meet you at Bletchley Park." 

"I knew you would trick me into doing some legwork for you," Emma accused. She sighed in acceptance. "Where is it located?" 

Steed shook his head. "Even I don't know where it is. You have to meet a secret contact. He'll take you there." 

"Who is this contact?" 

"No one knows." 

"Then how will I recognize him?" 

"He's always chewing gum." 

"Gum?" 

"Second-flush Darjeeling-flavored," Steed offered blithely. "Specially imported." 

Emma gave him a confused look. "The significance?" 

"He was a special agent for twenty years in Bombay, and grew addicted to the tea there," Steed said matter-of-factly. "The gum provides a constant stream of chemicals that simulates a 24-hour-a-day tea-time." 

Emma frowned. "And you don't know his name?" 

"We just call him the 'Gum-Chewing Man'." 

"I see," she said, giving him a measured stare. "So this is how your 'Zed Files' work." 

Steed smiled again to ease the tension. 

"I'll keep Spumi with me," he declared. "No dogs allowed in the Scramble Van." 

-oOo-

Emma swung the Lotus Elan into the covered car park and winked her headlights twice, just as Steed had instructed her. This whole adventure was already turning into something bizarre, and it wasn't even three hours old. But that was the way things went with Steed; one had to be ready for anything, at any time. Besides, her scientific curiosity was such that she couldn't resist the opportunity to meet a think tank full of codebreakers. 

She set the parking brake as a solemn man emerged from the shadows. His face was like carved stone. His jaw moved slowly, deliberately. As he neared, Emma detected the faint odor of tea. 

"Mrs. Peel?" he asked. 

"Yes," she answered. "And you are—?" 

"Here to take you underground," he said tonelessly. "You work with Steed?" 

"I do what I please; it just happens that sometimes it coincides with his plans." 

The man bristled imperceptibly at her assertion of independence. Emma locked up her car and boldly reached for the handle on the passenger side of the van. 

"Oh, no," he said with a charmless smile, blocking the door with his arm. "You ride in the back. In the scramble seat." 

He led Emma to the rear of the van and opened the double doors. In the center of the deck was a rotating captain's chair, surrounded by windowless walls. The only illumination was a single overhead lamp with a blood-red lens. The Gum-Chewing Man motioned her inside. 

"Just so you don't try to memorize the turns," he said as he buckled her into the seat, restraining her wrists and ankles, "the chair is motorized and rotates at random intervals." He stepped back outside and closed the doors; the overhead lamp instantly switched off, plunging the interior into darkness. 

Emma thought she could probably work her way free of the straps in less than a minute, but she had no reason to distrust her guide, so she just sat still and concentrated on the challenge of memorizing the route. She could hear the engine start and recognized a right-hand turn as they left the car park. Then she felt the chair slowly turning beneath her. 

The precautions were simple, but effective. At first, Emma could tell the difference between the van turning and the chair rotating; but after a while, the cumulative effect became disorienting, and she gave up her attempts at calculation. For all she knew, the van had just circled the block for ten minutes. 

They came to a sudden stop, and Emma felt her stomach do a flip-flop as she sensed the floor moving downward. Apparently the secret facility being "underground" wasn't just a figure of speech. The red overhead light switched back on, and she was facing the rear door, just as she had been when they left. The Gum-Chewing Man momentarily blocked her view of the outside as he unbuckled her from the seat. 

Emma stepped off the rear bumper and squinted from the glare. Everything she could see was white, from the smooth cement walls to the shoes and lab coats worn by the assembled staff. Emma's black knit jumpsuit made her look as out-of-place as a panther in a snowdrift. The van was parked on an elevator platform at the end of a corridor that stretched off into the distance until its white walls merged into a dull gray. 

A young man with short blond hair was holding a clipboard as he stepped from the behind wheel of a motorized cart. He carefully straightened his glasses as he sized up the visitor. 

"Welcome to the new Bletchley Park." 

-oOo-

The door was plain and utilitarian, just like all of the other doors at RAF Bentwaters. Steed had been assured that it was the office of the Wing Commander—the head of Operations at the base, and his Ministry contact. The adjutant pushed the door open ahead of him and snapped to attention. 

"Major Steed to see you, sir." 

The man at the desk resembled a classic-era aviator, with sideburns and a thick moustache that curled at the ends. The only things missing were a leather flying helmet and bomber jacket. Steed stepped forward and offered his hand. "Wing Commander," he said warmly. 

The Commander shook Steed's hand while avoiding the tangle of leash wrapped around Steed's wrist. 

"Well, Major, I see you've brought your own ground crew today." He reached down and scratched the terrier's ears. 

Steed looped the leash over the arm of a chair. The dog immediately used the seat as a springboard to hop onto the desk so he could look out the window. A dry scratching swirl of sand against the glass drew the officers over as well. A plane was visible less than a hundred yards away. 

"What's that?" Steed asked with interest. 

"One of those VTOL evaluation planes, a Kestrel, down from West Raynham." The Commander opened the shade wider as they watched. 

The jet prepared for vertical takeoff, the thrust blasting debris from the tarmac as it angled its nozzles downward. The terrier trembled with excitement and gave a triumphant bark as the plane lifted skyward. 

"Spumante!" Steed scolded gently as he restrained the animal, "Down, boy!" 

"That's all right, Major; just shows he a good bird dog," the Commander said jovially. "Probably wishes he could fly." He motioned Steed to the seat opposite the desk. "Speaking of dogs, we had ours searching Brindleshire last week." 

"Did they find anything?" 

"Our man was missing, but at least we found his field glasses," the Commander said with obvious relief. 

"A bit callous to be worrying about lost equipment under the circumstances," Steed teased. 

The Wing Commander feigned a scowl. "There was a secret camera inside," he explained. 

"I see." Steed accepted the photograph the Commander handed him. 

The image was blurred, but identifiable. A humanoid figure, skin lit with a greenish glow, its facial features distorted through a helmet trailing a respirator hose from the bottom. Steed tapped it with his finger. 

"This could just be someone wearing one of our flight masks, sitting under a lamp covered with green cellophane," he offered. 

"Oh, of course; I agree—it's probably fake," the Commander said. "Still, someone went to the trouble of making it, so it's possible that something important landed in that bog. Maybe a Red satellite with sensitive pictures on board, eh? Then their agents try to convince the Ministry it's just a bunch of farmers seeing swamp gas, and drop us a few prank photographs, so we look the other way while they smuggle it out." 

"What about the UFO?" Steed asked. "Do you have anything?" 

The Wing Commander shook his head. "RAF Woodbridge can tell you more than I can; they were closer." He reached over to give the terrier a final ruffle. "If they were bringing down a satellite, it's not the best place for a controlled landing. Nothing out that way but Rendlesham Forest." 

Steed pocketed the photograph. "This was no downed satellite," he remarked as he collected the dog's leash and headed for the door. 

"There's an intelligence at work in Brindleshire," he said wryly. "One that's out of this world." 

-oOo-


	2. Rendezvous In Brindleshire

**Chapter 2**

The young man in the white lab coat extended his hand. 

"My name is Steven Alling," he said. "You must be Mrs. Peel." 

Emma noticed his nametag indicated he was a doctor. She guessed he was her age, middle twenties, probably fresh out of college with his mathematics degree. She suppressed an amused grin as she watched his eyes wander down the length of her body. Her form-fitting knit jumpsuit may not have been the best choice in this setting. There were several other women present at Bletchley, but all of them had their feminine wiles hidden away beneath long smocks and eyeglasses. Emma had become so accustomed to any adventure with Steed resulting in a fight to avoid capture, she had acquired the habit of always dressing for action. 

Dr. Alling led her to the electric cart. Emma saw that its interior was white as well, from the floorboard to the leather seat. She indicated the walls with a wave of her hand as the cart lurched into motion. "Not much for color," she commented. 

"The white's so that dust can't hide," Alling explained. "Certain areas of this facility have to be spotlessly clean. We make our own transistors here; that's the semiconductor lab at the end of the hallway." He reached into a compartment and pulled out a short-billed white cap. "Wear this," he instructed. 

Emma piled her hair onto the top of her head and pulled the cap tightly down to contain it, tucking in the few strays that escaped the effort. The vehicle breezed along for several hundred feet before careening into a right-hand turn that brought them to a stop before a vaulted door. Alling helped her out as he pressed a button on the wall. Emma felt the cool rush of air-conditioning as the door slid open before them. 

"Here it is," Alling announced simply. "The Colossus Mark VII." 

Emma entered the room and stood before a solid wall of lights and switches. The only sound was the muted ticking of teletypes at four stations evenly spaced across the floor. Reels of magnetic tape rotated intermittently in several banks along the opposite wall. 

"Impressive," she said wryly, "but can it knit?" 

"Actually, it would be child's play to hook up an electro-mechanical loom; she could easily reproduce all of the great tapestries of Europe," Alling teased back. "But her efforts are reserved for a task much more demanding." He lovingly patted the control panel. Emma noticed the female personification he had attached to the machine. 

"Decrypting messages from the Eastern Bloc?" she ventured. 

Alling nodded. "Now rendered much easier, thanks to the Zagadka decoder you brought us." 

"Steed said they would just change the code wheels," Emma offered. 

"Even if they change the rotor unit, we still stand a good chance of decrypting their messages now that we know the design. 'Zagadka' is Russian for 'Enigma', you know, just like its German namesake." 

"Enigma?" 

"Oops, top double hush on that. Cipher machine from the War." The doctor took a seat at the nearest station, the command console, and checked the machine's status on the printout. 

"Dashed clever the way you got hold of the Zagadka," he continued. "I understand you went undercover as a lady of the evening to infiltrate the KGB?" 

Emma's face reddened at the misinterpretation. Alling took no notice. 

"Then Steed charged in to rescue you, defeating the villain and blowing up the entire installation single-handedly." 

"Oh?" Emma bristled. "Is that what he told you?" 

"Stands to reason, doesn't it?" Alling said. "Great cloak-and-dagger man, that Steed, just like a regular James Bond." 

"More like a Baron Munchausen," she added under her breath. 

Alling stood up and relinquished his seat to Emma. She peered at the spindle of paper feeding through the printer. Colossus was announcing it was READY. The doctor straightened his glasses. 

"As I said, Steed's a great agent, but he doesn't have any technical knowledge. You're a woman of science. I've seen some of your articles in the medical journals." 

Emma raised an eyebrow. "So that's why you wanted to meet me." 

Alling nodded. "We wanted to impress upon you the size and scope of the machine needed to descramble the Hazard Codes." 

"I see," Emma said seriously. "Do you believe a computer performed the calculations to break this logarithmic cipher?" 

"Barring some sort of extra-sensory perception that would allow the enemy to divine the secret key?" he put forth. "Yes." 

"Could someone smuggle in enough electronics parts to make something that exceeds the Mark VII?" 

He shrugged. "Even if they could, the assembly time and costs would be substantial. It couldn't be done by one person, or even a dozen; you would need at least two score technicians." 

"So what should I be looking for?" Emma asked. 

Alling gestured towards the hallway. "Another installation like this one. An underground city, with labs to create their own parts. A staff of forty or fifty scientists." 

"That would seem very costly," she commented. 

"With the money that the Soviets would pay to know our daily Hazard Codes, it could be done," Alling said. He pulled a pen from the pocket of his lab coat. "Now that you work for the Ministry, there's no reason we can't stay in contact." 

Emma started to contradict him, then decided it would serve no purpose to argue about her independence. She nodded and smiled as he scrawled a phone number on a scrap of paper tape that had holes punched through it. He signed it ALLING, STATION X. She took the fragment and tucked it away in one of her pockets as she gazed thoughtfully at the command console in front of her. 

"Would it be possible to make a faster computer without vacuum tubes or transistors?" she asked suddenly. "Maybe using light, like from a laser?" 

Alling smiled, clearly impressed at her cleverness. "Of course, you can make a computer out of anything; mechanical, like Babbage's difference engine, or electro-chemical, like the human brain." 

"Do you know of any computer that could outperform Colossus?" 

A grin started at the corner of his mouth as he shook his head. 

"Nothing on this earth." 

-oOo-

The green Bentley was parked next to a milepost that said BRINDLESHIRE 2. Steed leaned casually against the door while the fox terrier ransacked a nearby field. The dog lifted its head at the sound of a familiar engine, then started barking exuberantly and spinning in circles as a powder blue convertible approached. 

Emma rolled to a stop behind the Bentley and accepted the dog's greeting as it raced up to meet her. Steed tipped his bowler with a cocky grin. Emma walked over and leaned against the door next to him. 

"You made it here first," she announced. 

"Classic racing machine tops sexy upstart," Steed teased. Emma wrinkled her mouth. 

"Have you spotted any little green men yet?" she asked. 

Steed reached into his jacket pocket and handed her the picture. Emma's eyes widened. 

"Well, he certainly is green," she commented. 

"Photography courtesy of a spy from RAF Bentwaters," he said. 

"The helmet and mask was a nice touch." 

Steed nodded. "How was Bletchley?" 

"I met a young man named Dr. Alling," she declared. "He seems sharp enough, in spite of his overly-inflated opinion of you." 

"Can there really be such a thing?" Steed grinned. 

She pretended to ignore him. "Mind you, he did seem to take a liking to me, so his taste can't be totally warped. He even gave me his number." Emma showed him the paper with Dr. Alling's exchange. Steed quickly memorized it. 

"We can cover more ground if we split up," he suggested. "I'll go into Brindleshire. You check out the bog near Rendlesham Forest." 

"It's a fen," she corrected. 

"Eh?" 

"Technically, it's a fen, not a bog. Bogs use rainwater; fens use groundwater. There's insufficient rainfall here to support a bog." 

"Have you been talking to Rita?" Steed handed her the leash. "Your turn with the dowsing rod." 

Emma gave him a sweet smile. "I'll take your car as well." 

"What?" 

"I don't want my car sinking into a fen," she stated. 

Steed patted the side of the Bentley possessively. "I don't want mine sinking in a bog either!" 

"Fen. Don't be ridiculous. There isn't a fen large enough to hold your car. Besides, Spumi likes it better. It's easier to stand on the windshield." 

Steed started to object, then graciously inclined his head as he accepted the keys she offered. Emma watched as he squeezed himself into the seat of the Elan. 

"Don't grind her gears," she warned as he fired up the engine. Steed turned to her with a smile. 

"If there's one thing I know, Mrs. Peel," he said smoothly, "it's how to be gentle with a lady." 

-oOo-

Brindleshire sprawled lazily a few miles off the B1084 in the heart of Suffolk Coastal. The Lotus convertible purred as Steed swung it into a tight turn. He had spied a general goods store just off the main road as he drove into town. Perhaps he could start digging there. He parked the Elan in the lot and headed for the front door. 

The building was a patchwork of styles and materials, as if every decade a different extension had been added—first wood, then stone, then brick. The door was propped open due to the early summer heat, and as Steed ducked through, the drone of an electric fan masked the sound of anyone inside. He wandered down the aisle, peeking around for any other customers. An overweight, balding shopkeeper appeared at the front counter and eyed him suspiciously. 

"What are you looking for?" he challenged. 

Steed strode forward boldly, swinging his umbrella, and leaned against the counter as he gave the proprietor a brilliant smile. 

"You've heard of the 'landed gentry'?" Steed said glibly. "Well, I'm just gentry, out looking for some land." 

"You picked a bad spot," the shopkeeper snorted. "Nothing out here but forest and swampland." 

"Just the sort of place I'm looking for," Steed answered cheerfully. "Plenty of peace and quiet." 

A low rumble began to sound through the panes of glass in the front of the shop, vibrating the items on a nearby shelf. The shopkeeper hustled out from behind the counter and deftly caught a jar before it could fall to the floor. 

"There's your peace and quiet," he smirked. "Here they come." 

"Here what comes?" Steed asked. 

A chorus of diesel engines blared across the landscape. The two men walked towards the propped-open door of the shop to look outside. A line of heavy tanker trucks was making its way single-file down the main street of Brindleshire, the oversize tires kicking up dust along the side of the road. Stenciled onto the side of each tank was the word OXYGEN. 

Steed watched through the handle of his umbrella thoughtfully. Liquid oxygen was a useful component for launching aircraft—and spacecraft. 

"Judging from your attitude, that's a regular occurrence," Steed remarked. 

The shopkeeper nodded. "For the past couple of weeks. They're on their way to the Institute, that large building near the edge of the marsh." He indicated a structure nearly a mile distant. 

"What do they make there?" 

The man shrugged. "Something that needs oxygen?" 

"And it's just called the Institute?" Steed asked. Seeing the expression of suspicion and tight-lipped obstinacy start to creep across the proprietor's face again, he tried to dispel it by quickly adding, "Academic facilities are sometimes willing to part with a few acres." 

"They buy supplies here in town, on occasion," the shopkeeper replied. He wandered back to the counter and checked an invoice. "Call themselves the 'Brindleshire Research Association'." 

-oOo-

Emma pulled the Bentley to the side of the road to check Steed's hand-drawn map. She wasn't far from the hypothetical landing spot near Rendlesham Forest. Too late she realized that the terrier had gotten loose from his leash; the instant that the car stopped, he bounded from the front seat and tore out across the neighboring field. 

"Careful, Spumi!" she shouted after the dog. "You'll fall into a fen!" 

Emma swore silently as she set the parking brake, then left the car to pick her way across the muddy ruts in pursuit of the animal. 

-oOo-

The terrier was spurred on by the smell of food and strangers. The auburn-haired woman was left far behind as he sped through the underbrush, ducking beneath low-hanging branches and darting across overgrown roots along the path to the swampland. Two figures were moving stealthily in the adjacent field, shotguns at the ready. Both were shabbily dressed; one slightly too rotund for his clothes, the other, too lean. Their casual attitude showed that they were not in search of sport, but rather living off the land as part of their daily routine. 

The dog slowed as he approached the pond, alerted by the muted quacking of ducks. The fatter of the two hunters spied the terrier and grinned as his put his finger to his lips in a universal gesture of silence he hoped the dog would understand. 

His signal was apparently received; the terrier remained quiet, creeping through the low brush towards the water's edge. Then he stopped and stood at point. 

"Go ahead," the fat man with the shotgun whispered as he took aim at the sky just above the reeds. "Flush them." 

The terrier rushed towards the pond, causing the ducks to take off in a flurry. The dog didn't flinch as the booming gunshot echoed across the marshy landscape. The man snapped his fingers comically. 

"Just missed!" he cried. His partner sprinted over, having watched the scene from cover. 

"Say, that was handy," he said. "Where'd you get the gun dog?" 

"Just showed up. Looks like a terrier, but he's picked up some hunting tricks." 

The dog preceded the two men back to their campsite, drawn by the scent of stew. A small pot was simmering over a wood fire. The terrier sniffed at the contents and turned to look at the hunters hopefully. 

The lean man started to look nervous. "You don't think he's from the spaceship, do you?" 

"He aren't no alien," the fat hunter said. "Doesn't have any antennas." 

"They have antennas?" 

"'Course," the fat man answered reasonably. "That's so they can communicate tele-metrically. They don't have mouths, you know." 

"Really?" He seemed in awe of his partner's knowledge. "But then, how do they eat?" 

The fat hunter ignored him. "Nobody around for miles," he mused. "Must be a stray." He reached down and scratched the dog's head. "We'll call him Scruffles. Perfect name for a dog with hair like this." 

The thin man nodded and knelt by the fire. "Here, Scruffles!" he called. 

The terrier emitted a low growl, obviously dissatisfied with the name. His attitude evaporated the instant the man extended a spoonful from the pot. The dog scampered forward and greedily lapped up the morsels of stew. 

The hunters reacted to the sound of a snapping twig a short distance away. They scanned the tree line and saw that an auburn-haired woman dressed in a black knit jumpsuit had been drawn by the gunshot. 

"A snooper!" the fat man hissed. 

"Get after her, Scruffles!" the thin hunter urged. "Drive her away!" 

The fat man knelt by the dog. "Defend the camp!" he ordered as he pointed towards the approaching woman. "Attack, Scruffles! Attack!" 

The terrier took a few uncertain steps forward and barked once, then recognized Emma and looked back quizzically at the two men. The hunters immediately sensed that their gambit had failed and retreated towards the fire. Emma strode into the middle of the campsite and sternly crossed her arms, giving the two men a withering glare. 

"How dare you try to set that dog on me," she declared. She made a clicking noise with her mouth, and the terrier trotted over to sit docilely at her feet. 

The lean man hung his head. "We didn't mean any harm. We're just trying to train Scruffles to be a good watchdog." 

"His name is Spumante," Emma said haughtily. 

"That's too highbrow a name for a good field dog like this," the fat hunter put in. 

"And you own this land?" 

"Well, the owner... he don't mind." 

"I see," she said. "You're poaching." 

"We're not—" 

"Any chance the two of you were here last week?" 

The men looked at each other silently for a moment. 

"Ah, that's it," the fat man replied as realization dawned on him. "I know what you're looking for." 

"And what might that be?" 

"Aliens," the thin man whispered. 

Emma tried to suppress the skepticism in her voice. "You've seen some little green men?" 

The thin hunter's eyes got big. "No, but we saw their spaceship." 

"Aye," the fat one agreed. "All glowing and disk-like. Shaped like a pie-plate." 

"Or a saucer?" Emma prompted. 

"No; 'twere much bigger than a saucer. Yes, it was a pie-plate. A flying pie-plate." 

"Er—I see," Emma agreed. "Could you tell which direction it was heading, what speed it was going?" 

"Couldn't tell which way it went. Probably movin' at the speed of noise, innit?" the fat man said. "My guess is the aliens are doin' flyovers of London. Probably start here, near Rendlesham, pass over the Northside to land somewhere west of the city, like Stone'enge, out in Wiltshire. Wouldn't be surprised if they didn't start carving out landing areas in the fields there." He indicated his partner with a toss of his head. "'Course, he don't believe me." 

"I saw it better," the thin one said. "T'was all round and glowing, shaped like a ball." He nodded seriously. "I thinks it's the will-o-the-wisp," he added in a hushed tone. "Ghost light. Ol' Jacky Lantern, tryin' to lure the poachers into the fens!" 

"Like you two, for instance?" Emma teased. 

" 'ere now, we've got permission!" the fat hunter protested. 

"Yes, of course," she said. "Where did you see it?" 

The two men pointed in unison towards the outskirts of Brindleshire, several miles distant. Visible on the crest of a hill was a large institutional building, not far from the swamp. 

-oOo-

Steed leaned casually against the store counter. "You don't know anything else about this Research Association?" 

"Only what I've heard," the shopkeeper said. "Somebody once told me that they do something with computers." 

Steed's eyes lit up. "Computers?" 

"Part of the research, I guess." 

"Why would they need oxygen?" 

The shopkeeper shrugged. "Maybe they have sick people up there. Like a hospital." 

"Do you have a phone here?" Steed asked. The proprietor pointed to a box in the corner. Steed walked over and dialed the number from memory. "Station X, please." 

"Alling," a young man answered. 

"This is Steed." 

"Oh, of course," the computer scientist said pleasantly. "I met your helpmate this morning. You're a lucky man." 

"As long as I don't get on her wrong side," Steed commented. "What can you tell me about the 'Brindleshire Research Association'? 

"You're in Brindleshire? What on earth for?" 

"This is where the descrambled Hazard Codes were coming from." 

"No one told me," Alling said. "I assumed the transmission was from somewhere here in London." 

"There's a large building here the locals call the 'Institute'," Steed continued. "This Association is supposed to have set up shop there. Something to do with computers." 

Alling snorted. "Not really. They're crackpots. Tin-hatters." 

"So you know them?" 

"Everyone knows them," he replied. "Led by Dr. Cadmon Cephalus. Thinks he can harness the power of the human mind to make a better computer." 

Steed's instincts were immediately triggered. "Really!" he remarked. "A better computer?" 

"Yes, they call themselves the Brindleshire Research Association Into Neural Interfaces And Computer Systems." 

"Neural interfaces?" Steed asked, puzzled. 

"They hope to hook human brains together, in a gigantic array, to solve all of man's problems," Alling explained. 

"Problems like 'how to get more free time so that you don't spend every waking hour hooked into a giant array of human brains?'" Steed offered wryly. 

Alling chuckled. "I would suppose so." 

Steed suddenly raised his eyebrows in enlightenment. "BRAINIACS?" 

"They do have a flare for the acronymic." 

"Still, with decoded messages coming out of a spot where computer research is being performed... Don't you think it's possible the Brainiacs might have had some success?" 

The computer scientist was emphatic. "Completely impossible. Even if they perfected one of these 'neural interfaces', the human mind is chaotic, not task-oriented. You couldn't get one brain to focus exclusively on solving a problem, let alone a group of them." 

"In your opinion." 

"Well, yes," he said defensively, "In anyone's opinion." 

"What about this Cephalus fellow?" Steed continued. "Reasonable chap, is he?" 

"The truth?" Alling answered. "I think he's dangerously insane. The only institute he belongs in is an asylum." 

-oOo-


	3. Interview With The Neurologist

**Chapter 3**

Emma leaned against the Bentley next to the milepost that said BRINDLESHIRE 2. She looked down and gave a smirk to the terrier, who glared back sullenly. He was now securely fastened to his leash to prevent any more sight-seeing trips. They both turned their heads as a strange car came driving up—a drab-green, utilitarian vehicle with low sides and a canvas roof. Steed was at the wheel. Emma stepped out to meet him as he pulled to a stop. 

"What is that thing?" she asked. 

"It's a Moke," Steed said cheerfully. "At least if it falls in a bog, the two of us can probably pull it out." 

"Where's my car?" 

"I traded it in. Can you believe they gave me this Moke for it, even Steven? One born every minute!" Steed beamed. 

"You _what?_ " Emma's eyes flashed for a moment until she realized he was teasing. 

Steed grinned. "Your car is safe in a garage in Brindleshire. As you said earlier, it wouldn't be suitable for exploring the areas out in the field. Although if we want your Lotus back, we'll have to return the Moke in one piece." 

"If I don't get my Elan back, you'll be the one who's in pieces." 

"Trust me, Mrs. Peel," he said wryly. "You'll never lose your elan." 

Emma gave him a look of disapproval. "I met a couple of poachers." 

"Did you bring back dinner?" 

"They claim to have seen your UFO. One said it was a ship, but the other described it as a glowing ball of light." She sat down next to him in the Moke. "I think it could be a weather balloon." 

"What about the glow?" Steed countered. 

"Reflective surface, struck by moonlight?" she suggested. "Or maybe someone's purposely illuminating it, to make it look like a spaceship." 

"It's certainly possible," he said. 

Emma helped the terrier over the pontoon fender and into her lap. "So what did you discover?" 

"Oh, not much," Steed replied, casually leaning back and pulling his bowler down to the tip of his nose. "There's a group out here that's trying to make a human computer." 

Emma arched an eyebrow. "A human computer?" 

Steed nodded. "They call themselves the Brindleshire Research Association Into Neural Interfaces And Computer Systems." 

Her expression grew distant for a second as she put the letters together. "BRAINIACS," she announced. "Sounds like a fringe organization." 

"Led by a Dr. Cephalus," he added. 

"Cadmon Cephalus?" Emma ventured. "He's no crackpot." 

Steed straightened his bowler and looked at her. "You've heard of him?" 

"He's a neurologist," she said. "I've read his articles in the QJM." 

"Sounds like I've found the better clue, then." 

"But what about the UFO and the picture of the little green man?" she asked. 

"Perhaps he was a seasick Brainiac." 

Emma gave him a skeptical look and handed him the dog. "Human computers," she mused absently. 

"Mrs. Peel, only one of us is qualified to be a human computer." 

"You mean me, because of my intelligence?" she parried. 

"Me, because of my attention to detail," he teased. 

"I'll assume that was an attempt at sarcasm," Emma gazed levelly at him, "and make plans to see Dr. Cephalus tomorrow." 

-oOo-

The road that led up to the Brindleshire Institute was steep enough that it zigzagged severely to reduce the grade. The Moke's engine strained and knocked as Steed guided it through the hairpins. Emma sat next to him, exquisite in her floral summer dress and high heels. 

"Why did we use this car?" she asked. 

"I plan to do a little field research when you're through," he said. "In an actual field." 

"Then I'm glad I brought my leathers." She indicated the tote she had tossed in the back seat. The terrier was nestled in the floor pan next to it, poking his head forward in an attempt to be included in the conversation. 

"How do you plan to get in?" Steed asked. 

"I called early this morning and talked to the doctor's secretary. She was familiar with some of my articles, so I convinced her that I might cast a favorable light on the doctor's current research." 

Steed smiled. "Hard to imagine anyone turning you away at the door dressed like that." 

"This is solely for the distraction of any guards," Emma countered, primly straightening her hemline. "I might get the chance to do a little snooping of my own." 

As the Moke rounded a final corner at the top of the hill, the ancient building came into view. The architecture was decidedly Gothic, with spires, arches, and sinister gargoyles. Dr. Cephalus had apparently set up the facility as part laboratory, part school, with a row of dormitories off to one side that would allow the staff to live on the premises rather than stay in town. Emma looked off towards the horizon. 

"This is where Dr. Cephalus does his research?" she asked. 

"Yes. Why?" 

"It's also the spot closest to where the poachers claim to have seen the spaceship." 

"That must be more than coincidence," Steed commented. "While you're inside, I think I'll have a tour of the grounds." 

A stern and well-armed guard at the front of the building foiled Steed's plan by insisting that he wait in the car during the interview. Apparently the doctor had a habit of ejecting reporters in a fit of pique, and no one would dare force Mrs. Peel to walk all the way back to Brindleshire. Emma gave Steed a knowing glance in way of farewell as she was escorted into the Institute. 

A waiting room was just off the entrance to the building, and it was here that the great man apparently met his guests. Emma sat patiently until the side door opened to admit an imposing, older man wearing a white lab coat. His face was babyish, almost kind; disheveled tufts of gray hair marked the sides and top of his head. She rose to her feet. 

"I'm Emma Peel." 

He shook the hand she offered. "I read your article on Guillain-Barre syndrome in _The Lancet_ ," he said. "You have a remarkable understanding of neuropathies for someone without a medical degree." 

"I was just proposing that it might be responsible for some paralysis formerly attributed to polio." Emma took the seat he indicated opposite him across the desk. There were a handful of circuit boards scattered across its surface, doubtless to impress any visitors. She picked up one of the modules and said, "It appears you've given up medicine for computer science." 

"Far from it," he smiled. "In fact, the reverse is true." Dr. Cephalus closed the folder in front of him, as if to prove he wasn't about to read a prepared speech. 

"We have entered the age of the thinking machine," he began. "Eventually, computers will do everything for us—assign our jobs, perform our banking, diagnose our illnesses, choose our mates. We cannot let man be left behind." 

"I see," she said evenly. 

"Man is ideally suited to compete head-to-head with the computer," Cephalus explained. "We only use a small percentage of the human brain during our daily lives, in spite of its enormous capacity." He gestured to a plaster model of a cranium on the corner of the desk. "Each one of us possesses a computer that would shame the UNIVAC, but are unable to tap into its true power. A hundred random thoughts flit through our minds every minute, distracting us from the performance of any serious calculation. If only there was a way to reduce this noise, and allow brains to work together in harmony towards the accomplishment of a single task, man could rise above the machine." 

"So that's the focus of your research?" Emma asked as she jotted on the pad she held. "Disciplining the human mind to behave like a computer?" 

"Do I detect a note of disapproval, Mrs. Peel?" the doctor ventured. "I thought that you might be someone who could appreciate my work." 

"Computers will never be able to replace man," she said. "Man will never be able to replace computers, either. Each has their place." 

Dr. Cephalus gave her a look of irritation. "That is the typical opinion of those who are unenlightened about the capabilities of the human brain." 

Remembering the doctor's tendency to throw out interviewers, Emma steered toward safer waters. "How do you hope to achieve this equality between man and machine? Mental training? Or with drugs?" 

"Both psychological and chemical methods are useful," he answered. "I've set up classrooms here at this Institute where my Brainiacs strive to become the perfect processors of data, each one a cog in a larger machine." 

Emma shifted uncomfortably at the thought. "How can you get the minds of separate people to work in unison on a single problem?" she asked. 

"Through the use of a neural interface." Cephalus picked up one of the circuit boards. "The brain operates using simple electricity, like a radio set. The signals going into and out of it can be manipulated in much the same way." 

"People aren't just appliances you can turn on and off," she commented. 

"Electrically speaking, they are." 

"But what about their feelings and emotions?" 

"Thanks to the new techniques, my Brainiacs aren't bothered by those weaknesses," he said. "Perhaps you'd be interested in sampling some of my methods? I promise you an enlightening experience." 

"I think I'll pass." Emma closed her notepad with a resounding thump. "Maybe later, if my editor shows a deeper interest in your project." 

Dr. Cephalus gave her an icy smile. "I look forward to meeting you again, Mrs. Peel." 

-oOo-

Emma walked quickly past the guard towards the waiting Moke. Steed had already started the engine. 

"Did you learn anything?" he asked. 

She cast a backward glance over her shoulder as she shook her head. "He seems a little crazy, but it's a dangerous kind of crazy." 

"Dr. Alling said something similar." Steed guided the vehicle slowly away. "Do you think his research is far enough along that he has a system to decrypt the Hazard Codes?" 

"Impossible to tell. He did mention that he was using drugs and training on his subjects, but wasn't specific on how they effectively become a computer. It involves some circuitry that he calls a 'neural interface.'" 

"So if we want to meet a Brainiac, we just look for someone who's wired up like a Christmas tree?" 

"Cephalus described it involving signals, like a radio, so I don't think he needs to perform surgery to implant the interface," she answered. "I suspect that it could function at a distance." 

"Dr. Alling was right, then," Steed grinned. "We really _might_ need some tinfoil hats." 

Now out of sight of the Institute, Steed gunned the Moke back down the hill, slewing through the turns until he came to a weather-beaten access road. Without a word to Emma, he turned onto the trail and went at full speed for nearly a minute before having to slow down due to the soggy terrain. As they approached an empty field ringed by trees, the terrier stirred restlessly from the rear seat and attempted to lunge out of the slow-moving vehicle. Emma managed to stop him in his flight and attach the leash as Steed came to a halt. 

"Spumi has to go, _again?_ " she said in exasperation. 

"Just trying to mark his territory, Mrs. Peel." 

"He's already annexed more territory than Manifest Destiny." 

"This is near the spot where our spy disappeared," Steed said. "I was going to stop here anyway." 

Emma nodded as she handed him the leash. "I suspected as much when you took the detour." She stood up next to the Moke and fished her tote out of the rear seat. "You take the dog. I'm going to change." 

Steed walked towards the nearby field and unhooked the leash to let the terrier run free. Emma frowned. 

"I'll never get him trained if you keep doing that," she chided. She turned away, and Steed thought she might have been angry until he saw her lift her auburn tresses to reveal the nape of her neck. 

"Unzip me," she commanded. 

Steed strolled over and complied, the parting fabric exposing her bare back crossed only by a thin strip of lingerie. He leaned over her shoulder with his lips close to her ear. "That begs the question, who zipped you up this morning?" 

"It's not polite to beg," she countered playfully. "Don't come back until you've counted to five hundred." Emma kicked off her high heels. "By ones, not tens." 

Steed tipped his hat as he stepped away. "It would be more than a gentleman's reputation was worth." 

A few clipped barks alerted him to the terrier's activities in the grass. Steed trotted over to stay a few paces behind the animal as it darted from tuft to tussock. The dog's path was winding slowly towards the end of the field near the forest. 

Steed knew the terrier was onto something when it broke into its spinning, tail-chasing dance. The dog had detected an irregularity in the grass. Steed probed around in the sod with his fingers until he discovered a metal edge. With a mighty heave, he sprang the trapdoor open and was greeted by a rush of cool air. He was about to peer inside when a rag bobbed teasingly over his shoulder. 

"Your hands are dirty." Emma had crept up silently behind him, dressed in her skin-tight leathers and boots. 

"Thank you, Mrs. Peel." He watched the way her catsuit wrinkled as she squatted next to him at the hole's edge. After wiping his hands, Steed threw the light-colored rag down into the darkness; it hit bottom about six feet below ground level. 

"They must land the craft out here, then file underground," he said. 

Emma gestured back to the grassy field. "Shouldn't there be swirl marks?" she teased. "You know, where the saucer lands?" 

"Alternatively, perhaps they use this tunnel to come _outside_ , to launch one of your weather balloons," Steed offered. 

"A lot of work just to frighten the locals," Emma commented. 

"Indeed; the presence of UFO's would only draw attention to the area, not dispel it. To take such chances, they must be using this field to fly something important out." 

"Or up," Emma said wryly, pointing overhead to some still-visible morning stars. 

Steed dropped his umbrella and bowler into the opening and eased himself after them, hanging onto the hole's edge until his feet contacted the stone floor of the tunnel. Then he helped Emma down while the dog fidgeted on the surface. Finally, he beckoned the terrier and caught it mid-leap in his arms. Without warning, a counterweight swung the trapdoor closed, plunging them into utter blackness. 

"I probably should have made sure we had some light before jumping in," Steed said. 

"Save your matches for now." Emma's hand groped for and found his in the darkness. "I'll lead going down the tunnel. We can follow Spumi's sound until we get to the end. Don't let go of me." 

For several minutes they moved in silence, tracking the steady tick-tick of the dog's toenails on the damp rock. 

Emma gasped as the floor suddenly sloped downward, causing Steed's hand to slip from hers as she stumbled forward at high speed. It was all she could do to keep from tripping over her own feet until the grade leveled off. When she reached the bottom, she panted to regain her breath. The terrier had broken into a run to avoid her and was impatiently clicking around farther down the tunnel. 

"I guess we needed some light after all," she commented. On receiving no reply, she tentatively called out, "Steed?" 

"Marco," came a distant answer. 

"Polo," she responded, then repeated it as she heard Steed's footsteps draw nearer. 

"We wouldn't have been separated if you hadn't let go of my hand," she scolded. 

"I didn't want to be dragged forward," Steed explained. "I've been counting our steps. Over three hundred yards. We should be directly beneath the Institute by now." 

"Do you think the spy from Bentwaters found this tunnel?" 

"I'm sure of it." He found her arm and rode his fingers down it until he once again held her hand. "I'll lead from here on." 

"So just what are you expecting to find when we reach the end?" Emma smirked. "A roomful of little green men?" 

They rounded a corner, and suddenly the blackness was chased away by a distant phosphorescent glow. Steed crept forward in absolute silence to the chamber entrance while Emma mirrored his movements. 

The room was filled with row upon row of reclining leather couches, each one occupied by a helmeted person just like the one in the spy's photograph. The intermittent hiss of breaths being indrawn through the respirator hoses was the only sound. The floor was bathed in a dim fluorescent light provided from high overhead. Their skin seemed to pulsate an eerie green. 

Emma pulled up beside Steed and nudged him with her hip. 

"Don't say 'I told you so,'" she whispered. 

-oOo-


	4. Alien Chamber

**Chapter 4**

From the concealment of the tunnel, Steed and Emma looked out upon the bizarre scene they had encountered. The glowing green chamber was filled with rows of bodies reclined on couches, their heads enclosed in helmets and their faces hidden by respirator masks. The figures were motionless; the only sign they were alive was the regular hiss of the canisters attached to the end of each supply hose. Emma noted uneasily that they were breathing in perfect unison. 

"An underground city," she remarked. 

"What's that?" Steed asked. 

"I was just remembering something Dr. Alling told me," Emma explained. "He said the computer complex would resemble an underground city, and require a staff of forty or fifty scientists." 

Steed furrowed his brow. "So you think Dr. Cephalus and his Brainiacs are really just a front? That there's an actual electronic computer here, hidden somewhere beneath the hillside, decrypting the codes?" 

"It would explain some things," she answered. 

"But not others," he said. "Specifically, what is this that we're looking at now?" 

"Window dressing," Emma offered. She leaned over and reattached the leash to the terrier, just in case he got the urge to dart into the room and give away their position. 

"Surely, these must be the Brainiacs," Steed countered. 

"My poacher friends would claim that they're aliens," she said reasonably. "Perhaps they're whatever you want them to be. Maybe they're actually computer scientists." 

Steed said nothing in return, just continued staring blankly into the room. His eyes seemed to glaze over and he froze in position. 

"Steed," Emma called in a low voice. He didn't respond. "Steed!" she whispered harshly. 

He broke from his reverie. "Yes?" 

"Don't do that!" she chided. "You had me half convinced that a neural interface had taken over your brain." 

"Nice to know you're not entirely skeptical," he teased. 

A loud gong sounded in the room, echoing down the access hallways that led away on each of the four sides. The figures on the couches suddenly stirred and all rose in unison, stripping off their respirator masks. The synchronization of their movements was unnerving until the helmets were removed; then their motions became more random as they filed out through the tunnel in the opposite wall. There was no talking or casual contact; the entire assembly seemed to be in a drugged daze. 

"Off for elevensies?" Steed commented. 

"Most of these people look like farmers, not the 'staff of scientists' that Alling told me they'd need," Emma observed. 

Steed nodded. "Cephalus must have shanghaied the locals, from the look of things." He boldly stepped into the now-empty room. "Apparently, anyone can be a Brainiac. You counted me out too quickly, Mrs. Peel." 

Emma wrinkled her mouth. "I'm still not convinced they're Brainiacs." She followed him to the first row of couches. 

The terrier approached one of the respirator masks and sniffed it inquisitively. Steed held it up to his face and breathed deep. "Seems like fresh air to me," he announced. 

Emma's eyes widened in alarm. "That was an incredibly stupid thing to do." 

"Oh?" 

"For all you knew, they could be breathing something highly toxic," she scolded. "If they really _were_ aliens, they could be supplied with an atmosphere poisonous to us—like methane, or cyanide." 

"Spumi sniffed it, and he was alright," Steed said. "Just think of him as the furry little canary in our coal mine. Besides, I saw several tanker trucks hauling oxygen up to the Institute yesterday." 

Emma frowned in thought. "Why the need for all that oxygen? It's not like they're engaged in physical exertion." 

"Maybe it helps them relax while they're calculating." 

"None of them looked any too comfortable in that gear." 

"Indeed," Steed said. "They looked drugged." 

"Maybe this is the reason." Emma indicated a small vial filled with a glowing green liquid on a stand next to the couch. She held it up to the light to judge its opacity. 

"Absinthe?" she suggested. 

"Makes the heart grow fonder," Steed finished automatically. "Perhaps it accounts for their green color as well." 

"Addicts would be easier to control." Emma tucked the vial away in her leathers; a lab might be able to analyze its contents later. She turned her attention to the nearby helmet. As she picked it up, she realized it was tethered to the couch by a thin electrical cable. 

"Look at this," she said, tilting the helmet so Steed could see inside. "Microcircuitry. A neural interface. They're not going off somewhere else to work on a computer—these people _are_ the computer. They really must be the Brainiacs, working in concert to descramble the codes." 

"Dr. Alling told me that was impossible," Steed offered. 

Emma ripped the circuit board out of the helmet and displayed the dangling wires to Steed. "The evidence indicates otherwise." 

"Perhaps it's a fake, just to support the illusion." 

She gave him a doubtful look. "If it's a fake, it's needlessly complex." Emma traced the cable down to the couch and unplugged it from a control box. "It could explain the synchronized movements when they're wearing the helmets." 

"So could the psychological training that Cephalus subjects them to," Steed countered. "They move in unison because they've been trained to, or are hypnotized. It could all be a sham." 

"Hmm," she mused. "We need to get our hands on a Brainiac, to find out." 

Steed gestured at the access tunnel with a toss of his head. "Where do you think they've gone off to?" 

"Back to the Institute, to report their results." 

He grinned as he moved stealthily towards the opening and beckoned her to follow. "Let's find out." 

Emma removed the leash from the terrier so that it could act as an advance guard in the dimly-lit access tunnel where the Brainiacs had vanished. Steed led at a rapid pace, and soon they had covered more than a hundred yards, with no sign of any doorway or crossing. 

"There must be an elevator that leads up to the surface," he said. 

"Or a ramp," she agreed. "But where?" Emma examined the walls on either side. They were unfinished, exposing the same ragged rock face as the cavernous chamber. 

"Perhaps there's a secret lever hidden under a stone, and we passed it already," Steed suggested. 

The gong sounded again, and the pair froze in their tracks. Footsteps were echoing down the rock corridor. The terrier didn't wait for any instruction; he turned around and took off at a run, past Emma and Steed, back to the safety of the chamber. 

"Traitor!" Emma called out quietly as she watched the curled tail vanish around the corner. 

"Perhaps he's just going to fetch help," Steed offered. 

"He would have been more help to stay and attack their ankles," she said as she started sprinting. The footsteps grew louder. Steed glanced backward without breaking stride and saw the group was only twenty yards back. They must have emerged from some secret elevator hidden in the wall to be so close. 

"The Brainiacs are returning," Steed announced, out-of-breath. "Tea-time must be over. Back to the salt mines." 

"You're mixing your metaphors." Emma looked at the impossibly distant glow of the chamber and stopped, snagging Steed by his jacket sleeve before he could rush past. "We'll never make it back into hiding in time. Quick, flatten yourself against the tunnel wall. I'm wearing dark colors, so in this light I should be able to conceal you." 

"Conceal me? How?" Steed asked. 

Emma lunged at him as the steps grew nearer, pinning him to the wall as she pressed tightly against him. Steed's hands unconsciously drifted to the small of her back. She flattened against him even more, grinding her body into his in an attempt to present a smooth silhouette to the approaching Brainiacs. 

"Flatter!" she whispered harshly. "What have you been eating?" 

"Mrs. Peel!" he objected with a gasp. 

"Shh," she cautioned. 

Steed watched over her shoulder as the Brainiacs walked dazedly by, their faces devoid of any emotion. If they detected the two intruders squeezed against the wall, they gave no sign of it. 

Emma wriggled against him. "Wait for any stragglers," she said in his ear. Steed had no reason to object as he held her in his arms. He sniffed at her hair. 

"Strawberries?" 

"Shampoo," she answered tersely. 

"You would go very well with champagne." 

"Don't I always?" 

Emma immediately froze at a noise from nearby in the tunnel. "Steed?" she asked. 

"Yes." 

"Where are your hands?" 

He tapped a playful rhythm against her back. 

"You're not wearing gloves," she hissed. "You've spoiled the all-dark effect!" 

Suddenly, the overhead fluorescents snapped on, flooding the passage with light. Dr. Cadmon Cephalus stood there, gun in hand, flanked by two security guards. 

"We had barely said our goodbyes, and now I find you in the arms of another man," he joked. "Not the most romantic place for a rendezvous." 

Emma untangled herself from Steed and whirled in her leathers, ready for action. Cephalus fired a warning shot into the rock wall, showering the floor with dust. 

"I don't need what's in those vials to deduce who this man is," he continued. "Another intelligence agent, sent down here to find out what's going on." 

Steed tipped his bowler as Emma retreated to his side. 

"It's dangerous to discharge a weapon in a pure-oxygen environment," Steed warned. "You could wind up with Brainiacs Flambé." 

"My enriched oxygen feed system has been designed to prevent unsafe levels of combustibility." Cephalus used his gun to motion one of his men forward. The guard pulled out some rope and bound Emma's hands behind her back. 

"Enriched oxygen feed?" she asked casually. 

"When the brain operates at heightened capacity, there is a tremendous demand for oxygen to keep the cells supplied." 

"Like running a marathon with your mind," Steed offered. 

"Precisely." The doctor waited while the guard removed Steed's hat and umbrella and tied his hands as well. 

"The human mind is chaotic, not task-oriented," Steed said, remembering the words from Dr. Alling. 

"Quite true." 

Emma raised her eyebrows. "But you've discovered a remedy for that, haven't you, with your glowing green absinthe," she announced. 

Dr. Cephalus smiled. "How incredibly clever of you, Mrs. Peel," he said. "You are correct; the drug is based on wormwood, the source of absinthe." With his prisoners' hands now securely bound, the doctor preceded them down the tunnel. 

"It is the perfect neuro-accelerator," he explained. "I call it ThinkFast." 

Emma nodded. "The miracle drug that can turn a farmer into a Brainiac." 

"Neuroaccelerator?" Steed asked. 

"A chemical that speeds up brain activity," Emma answered. 

"The story actually begins when I was a young man, in the service during the War," Cephalus began. "I was a meteorologist at RAF Woodbridge." 

Emma turned to Steed and smirked, "Weather balloons." 

"While performing a long-term study of solar cosmic radiation, I noticed that every night, ninety minutes after sundown, there was an inexplicably high reading from our instrument pack thousands of feet in the atmosphere. The others wrote it off as an equipment glitch, but I knew better." The doctor stopped and pressed a stone in the wall. A section of the tunnel slid away, revealing the door to a massive freight elevator. 

"I called this radiation pulse 'The Cadmon Effect.'" 

"Modest," Steed commented. 

"Years later, after I obtained my medical degree specializing in neurology, I was looking into ways to speed up the functions of the human brain. Many scientists suspected that radiation held the key to activating the latent powers of the mind. I experimented with gamma radiation, with no success. Then I remembered The Cadmon Effect. A few months later, I achieved results beyond my wildest dreams—with ThinkFast. It increases both speed and focus." 

The guards herded their two captives into the elevator. Dr. Cephalus stepped inside and pressed a button halfway up the panel, for a floor somewhere between their current location and the surface. 

"In order to activate the serum, it must be exposed to prodigious amounts of solar cosmic radiation," he continued. "Since the lower earth atmosphere blocks out too much, we use specially-modified weather balloons to lift the ThinkFast solution high into the atmosphere, where it can be sufficiently inundated at the proper time when The Cadmon Effect occurs." 

"Sounds very expensive," Steed said. 

"But as you undoubtedly know, government agent, we have a source of funding. It takes only a few hours for my Array to calculate the complex logarithms needed to decipher the Ministry's Hazard Codes, for which the Soviet GRU pays us handsomely. Their contributions go to underwrite my research work here—the creation of the ultimate human computer." 

"Until one of your weather balloons was mistaken for a UFO," Emma ventured. 

"Actually, we make them look that way, so they'll be dismissed," Cephalus said. "Unfortunately, we lost control of an ascent a week ago, and the government sent in someone to investigate. Fortunately, the agent was fairly intelligent, providing me with excellent raw material to augment my Array's calculation capacity." The elevator stopped, and the door slid open to reveal a Brainiac complete with helmet. Steed squinted as he recognized the man. 

"You're the spy from Bentwaters," Steed said in greeting. This was the man that had taken the picture. 

The agent gave no sign that he recognized Steed. He looked to be in a drugged trance. Emma shook her head as she turned to Cephalus. 

"How did you go so wrong," she said evenly. 

The doctor smiled. 

"I look forward to making you part of the Array, Mrs. Peel." 

-oOo-


	5. A Clever Dog

**Chapter 5**

The two prisoners were locked up in a room with one wall made of steel grillwork, probably meant for the storage of chemicals that were either too dangerous or too valuable to leave in the open. Unfortunately, the area had been cleared of crates, spoiling any hope of finding materials for an explosive or corrosive to break out of the makeshift cell. 

Steed lounged on one of two cots, feeling less-than-dressed without his bowler and umbrella. He leisurely watched Mrs. Peel as she tested the strength of the hinges on the steel door. The muscles on her shoulders and thighs tensed as she attempted to twist and fatigue the metal. The lustrous black leather of her outfit was stretched taut over her backside, revealing its perfect shape. He never tired of observing Mrs. Peel's athletic form in action. 

All of the stress points on the doorframe had been securely welded and wouldn't yield to her efforts. Emma vented her frustration with a vicious kick that sent a metallic clang echoing around the room. Steed winced. She began pacing the floor like a caged tiger, then turned to him with a look of grim determination. 

"Their drugs won't work on me," she announced. "Dr. Cephalus underestimates the strength of my will." 

Steed nodded encouragingly, even as he remembered how quickly she had succumbed to the aphrodisiac drug in Swansea. Then again, perhaps making love to him didn't run so counter to her will. 

"So you really think the Brainiacs are a human computer that calculates the Hazard Codes?" he asked. 

Emma gave him a withering glance. "I'm afraid if we don't get out of here, we'll certainly find out." She returned her attention to the door. "In case you forgot, I'm slated to be part of the Array." 

"I suppose I'll have to settle for being a zombie-like guard," Steed added breezily. 

A padlock was the only thing securing the door. Emma examined it closely, trying to peer inside to determine the best method of attack. Steed continued to watch her idly from the cot. 

"Don't you have any lockpicks secreted somewhere on your person?" he asked. 

"Don't you think I would be using them now if I had?" 

"Rita always had some in her hair clips," Steed continued in a conversational tone. "Miss King wears hers in a garter." 

"Miss King? Another one of your Ministry groupies?" 

"An agent trainee I met briefly in Swansea, although she wouldn't remember me." 

"What about you?" Emma countered. "Don't you have anything to get us out?" 

Steed spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. "They took my bowler and brolly. And they were eyeing my belt and tie rather suspiciously." 

"Good point. Take them off." 

"I beg your pardon?" 

"The keys are hanging on a peg on the other wall." 

"That's twelve feet away," Steed protested. "We'd never reach it." 

Emma folded her arms. "Then you'll just have to remove all of your clothes and tear them into strips," she teased. 

He gave her a wounded look. "This is Cardin. We're not tearing it into anything." 

She resumed her testing of the lock. "I feel slighted that they didn't search me." 

Steed gave her a boyish smile. "There's no room to hide anything in that outfit." 

"That's where you're wrong," she smirked. "Look what I had hidden in my secret pocket." Emma faced away from him, then turned around to display the glowing vial of ThinkFast. 

"Secret pocket? Where?" 

"If I told you, it wouldn't be a secret." 

"This prison is stone and iron. No matter how fast your mind works, I don't believe you can 'think' your way out of here," Steed remarked. "Besides, we have no idea how that formula works." 

"Seems simple enough. As the sign said to Alice: drink me." Emma stopped as a steady ticking noise could be heard in the hallway, growing nearer. Steed rose from the cot and shouldered in next to her. 

He smiled. "A bomb?" 

The terrier poked its nose around the corner, checking for any hostile scents. Determining that the coast was clear, the dog trotted over to the cage door. 

"Spumi!" Emma crooned as she stroked his muzzle through the bars. She turned to Steed. "I thought maybe he'd run off to find his friends, the poachers." 

"How did he come up on the elevator?" Steed asked. 

"Perhaps he found a stairway." Emma snapped her fingers and indicated the key hanging on the opposite wall. "Go get it, boy!" she urged. "Get the key." 

The dog followed her finger and made several ineffectual leaps against the wall, even taking a running start on the final attempt. 

She sighed. "It's too high for him." 

"Maybe he could use a little more brain power," Steed grinned. "I say we give him the ThinkFast and see what he comes up with." 

Emma wrinkled her mouth. "Are you suggesting that after he takes the neuroaccelerator, he'll suddenly understand English and be able to respond to our commands?" 

"He already knows we want the key," Steed said. "Haven't you ever seen a dog run an obstacle course or perform maths on an abacus?" 

She gave him a skeptical look. "Those things take training, reward, and reinforcement." 

"Yes, but there are acts of pure cleverness by animals with no specific training, like a raccoon opening the latches on a closed dustbin to get at the food inside. Surely, the ThinkFast can elevate Spumi to the level of a raccoon." 

"But without the enriched oxygen feed...," Emma countered. 

"Look, it's not like were asking him to solve differential equations; we just need a key off the wall." 

She shrugged. "I suppose it's worth a shot. I hope it's safe for him." 

Steed gave her a grim half-smile. "Remember, if we don't get out if here, you'll be quaffing down a few drams of this yourself, as part of the Array." 

"Thanks for reminding me." Emma put her wrists through the bars and cupped her hands. Steed decanted a small amount of the glowing green liquid from the vial. The terrier sniffed the solution once and then quickly lapped it up. 

Emma dried her hands on Steed's cuff as he pocketed the bottle, then turned back to Spumi. Was it just her imagination, or was there newfound wisdom in those canine eyes? The dog ran out into the hallway for a moment, then returned pushing a small block of wood with his nose. Emma smiled. 

"Not a bad idea," she commented. "We can toss this block of wood at the key ring to try to knock it off. In fact, we can throw our shoes, as long as Spumi's clever enough to fetch them." Emma pushed her arm through the bars as far as it would go, groping for the block. It was several inches out of reach. 

She frowned. "It seems his heightened intelligence is deficient. He didn't push it close enough." The dog had exited the room again. Shortly, there was a clatter from the hallway. The terrier returned back-end first, his mouth clamped over the handle of a shovel as he dragged it into the room. 

"A shovel?" Emma mused. "Apparently the ThinkFast isn't enlightening enough to make him realize we can't dig through concrete." She snorted dismissively. "It's just as I thought. The neuroaccelerator is a hoax." 

"Perhaps it just doesn't work on dogs," Steed suggested. 

The terrier hopped backwards over the block of wood as he pulled the handle over the top of it, stopping just short of the cage door. The shovel was positioned so that its middle rested precisely on the block. The dog ran to the other side of the fulcrum and stood with all four paws in the scoop of the shovel before looking expectantly at Steed. 

Emma shook her head in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding me." 

Steed simply smiled and maneuvered his foot through the grillwork. With a hefty stomp, he brought his boot down on the raised handle of the shovel. 

The terrier was launched high into the air, flying past Emma's nose so that the top of his arc intersected with the wall peg. The dog snatched the key ring in his mouth as he bounced off the wall and fell to the floor. He scrambled back upright and trotted over, dropping the keys at Steed's feet. Steed grinned. 

"Comments, Mrs. Peel?" 

"He could have broken his leg with a stunt like that." 

"I'm sure he considered all of the physics carefully," Steed teased. "Did you see the geometry, how perfectly he positioned the shovel—" 

"Hand me the keys," she said curtly. "You and that crazy flying dog..." 

"The Kestrel!" Steed snapped his fingers. "At Bentwaters, he was watching the plane do a vertical takeoff. That's where he got the idea." 

Emma unfastened the padlock. Steed reached down and affectionately scratched the dog behind the ears. 

"At least now we know the ThinkFast is real," he said. 

"We know nothing of the kind," Emma retorted. "It could just be a vial of dyed sugar-water that sent Spumi into hyperactive mode." 

Steed raided the locker on the other side of the room. His umbrella and bowler were there; he briefly spun the hat on the brolly tip like an acrobat juggling a dinner plate before depositing it on his head. "Ready for action," he quipped. "Where to, first?" 

"I don't like the idea of these people being enslaved as a computer," Emma announced. 

"They're innocents, not henchmen," Steed cautioned. "We don't want to hurt them." 

"No, but if we destroy the supply of ThinkFast, it should put a crimp in the doctor's scheme." 

"He'll just make more," Steed countered. "Remember, at sundown, the radiation pulse—'The Cadmon Effect'." 

"Then we'll have to destroy the balloon as well." 

"More mayhem?" 

Emma sniffed haughtily. "I'm still annoyed that Dr. Alling gave _you_ credit for the destruction of Canary Roe. I worked very hard to put The Ladja's stronghold out of commission." She brought her thumbnail to her lips. "But where do we start searching?" 

"We do have an expert tracking dog," Steed grinned. He pulled the vial of ThinkFast out of his pocket and waved it in front of the dog's nose. 

"Find more!" he urged. The dog shot off into the hallway. Emma gave Steed a look of astonishment as they were caught flat-footed. She took off first in pursuit. 

"He's got talent," she panted. "If only we could slow him down." 

-oOo-

The dog had found a zig-zagging ramp, ostensibly for use when the freight elevator was out of order. The way led downward, back to the same lower level where the Brainiacs toiled in the Array. At the far end of one of the access tunnels, a hydraulically-operated door was set next to temperature and humidity gauges. 

"Like a high-tech wine cellar," Steed commented. "This must be the place." 

"For Spumi to still smell traces out here in the hallway, it must be an immense supply," Emma said. "Do you think the door is alarmed?" 

"Only one way to find out." Steed pressed the button and the door slid smoothly open. No bells sounded. 

The interior darkness was permeated by a faint light. Emma followed Steed as they approached the source. The room contained two massive glass storage tanks, one on each side of the walkway, filled with the luminescent neuroaccelerator. The glow from the solution painted the walls an eerie green color. 

"Eureka," she said. 

"What do we do now?" Steed asked. 

Emma tapped her toe on the floor, indicating a grate in the center. "Down the drain," she declared. 

"That probably leads straight to the swamp. It might contaminate the water supply." 

"It didn't seem to harm Spumi," she said. 

Steed grinned. "Should make most of the local game quite intelligent. Your poacher friends might have trouble fooling the waterfowl with their duck blinds." 

"Nothing wrong with evening up the odds," Emma replied, "assuming that the neuroaccelerator really works." 

"Skeptical to the end, Mrs. Peel?" He opened the taps on the twin tanks. The fluid trickled out slowly and sloped for the drain. 

Emma furrowed her brow. "Not good enough," she announced. After hunting around the room, she returned with a heavy spanner. With a grunt of exertion, she swung it laterally at the taps, shearing the valves cleanly away from their flanges with a loud clang. The fluorescent green solution gushed forth, pooling at the grate. 

"That noise is sure to bring someone," Steed warned. 

Emma waited for a moment, judging the flow rate. "It doesn't matter," she said. "The tanks will be empty within three minutes." 

She whirled as a flurry of footsteps came down the access tunnel. A group of farmers blocked off the hallway, making escape impossible. They seemed drugged, but they would have the advantage of numbers in a bum's rush. The dog barked a warning. 

Emma adopted a martial pose as the first man advanced. She deftly avoided his charge and chopped him on the neck with the edge of her hand. He went down, but two more took his place. She crouched and moved between the pair to make their attack more difficult. 

Steed waited until she had stalled them sufficiently, then gently grabbed her arm. "Innocents, Mrs. Peel," he reminded her. "You've bought enough time. The ThinkFast is gone." 

Emma sighed and dropped her aggressive stance. The terrier ran for cover as more men approached. 

Dr. Cephalus appeared in the corridor, brandishing an air pistol. He watched as the last of the green liquid spiraled down the drain. His eyes flashed with anger. 

"That was a very foolish thing to do, Mrs. Peel." 

Emma gave Steed a smug expression. "See, at least the _villains_ give me credit for the damage I do." She boldly stepped forward and planted her feet wide apart. "I don't know exactly what your game is, Cephalus, but I think you'll find that I can't be controlled." 

The doctor nodded regretfully. "Yes, I agree; you're far too unstable and disruptive to be allowed into my Array. I guess I'll have to settle for this government agent." 

"With all due respect to Steed's intelligence," Emma smiled faintly, "your Array may have trouble functioning without your supply of ThinkFast." 

"It's almost dusk," Cephalus countered. "I still have my balloons, and a full gallon of the solution ready to be irradiated." 

Emma glared, "What about me?" 

Without warning, he aimed the pistol at her and squeezed the trigger. A puff of air sounded as a small, feathered dart struck Emma's neck, just above the top of her leather collar. Steed dropped his umbrella and caught her as she started to sag. Cephalus shook his head. 

"I had really hoped to do you no harm. But you're simply too violent and uncontrollable. In order to preserve the harmony of my Array, I'm afraid you'll have to be eliminated." 

Emma narrowed her eyes to slits. "What do you mean?" Her words were already starting to slur. 

The doctor smiled. 

"You're going to experience the Cadmon Effect firsthand." 

-oOo-


	6. The Cadmon Effect

**Chapter 6**

The zombie men filed through the grass-covered trapdoor like a funeral procession. The field at the fringe of Rendlesham Forest was painted with golden twilight, a counterpoint to the heavy humidity of the surrounding swamps. No other person could be seen for miles around the tree-lined horizon. 

Emma was carried between the guards as she groggily attempted to regain consciousness. Steed was escorted behind, once again stripped of his bowler and umbrella. His eyes carefully moved from side to side while he watched for an opportunity. 

A specially-modified weather balloon was straining at its tethers as the Brainiacs secured Mrs. Peel's wrists to the main hawser, the helium having enough pull to force her to her tiptoes. Just three feet above her on the same cable was an instrument pack containing the gallon of ThinkFast. The equipment had a disc-shaped antenna on one side. Dr. Cephalus stood nearby, watching the operation with air gun in hand. 

"Attach the demolition charge," he ordered. 

Two of the men stepped forward and pulled down on the main cable, temporarily bringing Emma back to her feet. She feebly tried to unleash one of her kicks; the drug was wearing off, but her attack was easily blocked. Steed realized that if he could stall for a few more minutes, she would be back in fighting form. The men snapped the explosive into place and raised its smaller antenna. 

"What's that for?" Steed asked. 

"Just a precaution. What did Mrs. Peel call you earlier—Steed? In the event the balloon is about to fall into the wrong hands, I can remotely trigger its destruction from this radio control unit." 

Steed focused his attention on the box that Cephalus held in his other hand. In addition to the detonation button, there was also a switch that would release the gas from the balloon for a controlled descent. He had to get hold of that unit to make sure Mrs. Peel wasn't blown to bits during any escape attempt. 

The doctor extended the antenna on the control unit and pressed a button. The balloon lit up from inside with an eerie glow. He looked at Steed and smiled with his baby face. 

"The extra-terrestrial effect," he said. 

Steed continued to watch Mrs. Peel's stirrings from the corner of his eye. "If you're afraid of discovery, why put lights on it?" he asked. 

"The only thing worse than having it be seen would be to have it _not_ be seen. Imagine if a plane were to accidentally hit the balloon, set off the destruct charge, and crash. The place would be crawling with the authorities in no time." 

"Then if everyone sees it, where's your secrecy?" 

"This area is rapidly getting a reputation as a hotbed of alien activity. Dozens of UFOS are reported here every year. The RAF doesn't have time to investigate them all; they don't even make an attempt any more," Cephalus explained. "It's the perfect camouflage." 

Steed indicated the dish on the side of the instrument pack. "You don't need an antenna that big for those simple controls." 

"Quite true. While the balloon is aloft, it sends a short-burst transmission with the daily Hazard Code aimed at the heart of Russia." The doctor pressed a few more buttons on the controller and turned to one of his men. 

"There shouldn't be anyone around for miles, but voices carry," he said. "Gag her." 

The guards forced a strip of cloth into Emma's mouth and tied it tightly behind her head. Cephalus gave the gun to the man next to him and stepped in front of Emma, holding the control box with both hands. 

"I've never calculated the rate of ascent carrying an extra hundred pounds. I'm not sure which will kill you first—hypothermia or oxygen deprivation." He looked her over from head to toe. "Your leather suit should give you some protection from the cold, so I think it will be suffocation." 

Suddenly, a shrill barking split the air as the terrier emerged from the forest edge and charged at the group of men. The dog had found its way to the surface. Emma lashed out a kick aimed at the control unit, hoping to send it through the air towards Steed's feet. Perhaps her still-drugged state spoiled her coordination; the box went flying off to land next to one of the guards. With a sinister grin, Cephalus dived forward and pulled up a large stake anchored in the ground. Steed was too late to stop him. 

All of the tethers came loose, and the balloon rose majestically into the air with Emma suspended beneath it, legs flailing. 

The terrier was running in circles through the guards, contributing to the melee as he nipped at their ankles. One of the men reached for the fallen control unit; the dog snarled and snapped at his hand, causing him to recoil. The guard with the gun took aim at the animal and fired. The terrier dodged as a small, feathered dart narrowly missed his haunch and embedded itself in the turf. The man grabbed the control box and headed towards Cephalus. 

Steed singled out the guard who had his bowler and umbrella. He lunged at the man's midsection and knocked him to the ground. The umbrella went flying off; Steed ignored everything else and rushed to pick it up. Looking to the sky, he held his brolly by the tip and leaped into the air, trying to hook Mrs. Peel's foot before she could drift away. 

She was already too far up, and rising higher. It would have been impossible to snag Mrs. Peel anyway; she was swinging back and forth, pumping her legs like an acrobat on a trapeze. 

As Steed watched, she launched into a spectacular gymnastic maneuver, flipping herself upside-down to clamp the main cable between her feet at a point just above the instrument pack. Hanging inverted, she pulled the pack in towards her belly using the slack that she had created on the lower part of the hawser. The blood must have been rushing to her head as she stripped off the explosive charge with its antenna and sent it tumbling end over end towards to the ground. Then she tried to remove the gag from her mouth, but working against gravity had taken its toll; exhausted with the effort, her feet lost their grip on the main cable and she collapsed back down to hang by her wrists, the lurch threatening to pull her spine out of joint. 

Cephalus followed Steed's eyes and saw only the last part of Emma's effort. 

"She's trying to remove the explosive charge!" he yelled at the guard with the control box. "Detonate!" 

Steed watched in alarm as the bomb that Mrs. Peel had just detached spiraled down and hit the ground less than a foot away from him. Acting purely on instinct, he gave it a quick soccer-style kick toward the man holding the control unit. Too late he realized his mistake. 

The guard hadn't seen the explosive tumbling his way; he pressed the detonation button just as Steed ducked and covered up. The terrier recognized the safety precaution and took off at a run for the forest edge. 

The demolition charge exploded with a thundering boom, shooting tendrils of fire across the clearing. Steed flattened himself as the shock wave passed overhead. Cephalus wasn't as alert; the blast picked him up and deposited him several feet away, where he landed awkwardly on one leg before falling to the ground. 

Steed crawled across the smoldering earth towards the unconscious guard with the control unit. The man would survive, but the unit was damaged beyond hope; there wasn't even a trace of the magical DESCEND button which would send the signals to bring Mrs. Peel back down to earth. Steed looked up in horror to see the balloon vanishing over the treeline, heading north. Mrs. Peel gave one last look over her shoulder before she slipped out of sight. 

Steed rushed over to Cephalus and grabbed him by the collar. 

"How do we bring it down?" he shouted. 

"That control unit was the only way," the doctor said simply. "She's as good as dead." 

-oOo-

Emma looked down and saw the explosion below her feet. Surely, Steed wasn't caught up in it. He would recover the control unit, and she would start descending at any moment. 

The waiting seemed an eternity. She threw a look over her shoulder back at the clearing, but she couldn't make out anything through the smoke and shadows. As she saw the trees at the edge of Rendlesham Forest pass beneath her, she braced herself for the worst. 

It was her fault. She had accidentally killed Steed with the demolition charge. Now she would have a fitting punishment: she would die herself, either of hypothermia or oxygen deprivation, depending on the balloon's ultimate altitude and the time it took to reach it. Already she could feel the air getting cooler as she rose away from the ground's warmth. 

Emma doubted she had enough strength to attempt her acrobatic flip again. Even if she could manage to invert herself and get enough play to remove the gag, in a few seconds it would be too late to shout for help, anyway. 

She sighed. If only she had eaten more and exercised less. Another forty pounds, and the balloon wouldn't have been able to lift her. She imagined sitting across the table from Steed at Mario's, stuffing herself on spaghetti and lasagna. Perhaps she could "think herself" heavy. 

-oOo-

Steed's eyes were ablaze as he reached in his pocket and pulled out the vial of ThinkFast. There should still be a sufficient amount left, even after Spumi's earlier dose. 

"What about this?" he glared at Cephalus. 

The doctor shook his head. "It's highly addictive. Just one taste will leave you wanting more. That's how I recruit my followers." 

Steed didn't hesitate as he opened the container and drank some of the glowing green absinthe-like solution. "How long does it last?" he asked. 

"The benefits wear off in a half-hour or so." 

Steed felt a strange dizziness. He watched as Cephalus tried to stand up and escape, but the doctor's leg was injured; he fell back to the ground. The terrier was still nowhere to be seen. Steed tried to focus on the problem at hand—there had to be a way to save Mrs. Peel. The neuroaccelerator would help him come up with an answer; he was sure of it. 

"When is this going to work?" Steed asked thickly. 

"You should be feeling the effects now." 

"Perhaps this sample has gone bad." Steed hurled the bottle to the ground and staggered forward a step. His eyes flashed with anger. "It's not working!" 

Cephalus seemed to be in another world as he stared off into the distance. "I experimented on my neuroaccelerator for years. I refined it, perfected it. No one else has ever been able to approach my accomplishment—my ultimate success. The brilliant, glowing pinnacle of my career. The fuel for my Brainiacs. It simply _must_ work. Don't you understand?" He turned to Steed, and the light of madness was in his eyes. He spoke slowly and carefully. "It's not a failure. No matter what anyone says." 

Steed felt a chill of despair at the insanity exposed before him. Mrs. Peel had been right all along. The ThinkFast was a fraud. He shook his head, not wanting to accept defeat. Perhaps the neuroaccelerator didn't work until you tried to solve a complex problem. 

He ran through the possibilities. It would be dangerous for a helicopter or airplane to directly approach the balloon due to risk of a collision. Perhaps RAF Bentwaters or Woodbridge could scramble a plane with a parachutist to drop down on top of her. Mrs. Peel could be provided with a spare canopy, then cut free from the instrument pack. 

Steed tried a quick calculation. Assuming the balloon's rate of ascent to be ten feet per second, how much time would the plane have to reach her before Mrs. Peel was too high? What was the overall flight distance and the maximum airspeed? He tried running the numbers in his head and found that he had gained no special abilities from the ThinkFast. Every second put Mrs. Peel closer and closer to being beyond help. 

"What about a back-up control unit?" Steed suddenly asked Cephalus. 

"It would take an hour to assemble," the doctor answered. 

Steed took off at a run towards the Institute, to make a futile phone call to Bentwaters. He could see it all crystallized in his mind, laid out in black and white, with the mathematics of inevitability. No solution was possible. 

Mrs. Peel was going to die. 

-oOo-

The terrier streaked across the broken ground, bounding like a gazelle to avoid the mud-filled holes. He was spurred on by a familiar smell. 

Near the edge of the swamp, a campfire was glowing in the shadow-filled twilight. Two men were seated next to it, one too thin for his clothes, the other, too fat. The dog barked frantically as it approached at a dead run. The thin man jumped to his feet. 

"It's Scruffles!" 

The fat hunter joined him as the terrier stopped suddenly in his tracks and went completely silent. The dog rotated back in the direction it came from and stood motionless, at point. 

"What's he hunting now?" the fat one asked. 

The two men looked to the sky. Rising over the trees on the horizon, an eerily-glowing sphere was drifting towards them, several hundred yards distant. 

"Look!" the thin hunter shouted. "Aliens!" 

The fat man nodded. "I think Scruffles wants us to shoot it down." Without taking his eyes off the unidentified flying object, he gestured with his right hand. "Fetch me my three-ought-three." 

The thin hunter stood transfixed for a moment at the strange sight. The fat man grabbed his arm and shook him out of his trance. "Quick!" he urged. "Before it lifts away. It'll be out of range in seconds!" 

The thin man went to the stack of equipment next to the campfire and brought back a long Lee-Enfield rifle. The fat hunter raised it up to his shoulder and adjusted the sights to center on the luminescent orb. He gave his partner a wry smirk. 

"We're going to bag us some aliens." 

-oOo-

Emma hung motionless, her eyes barely open, controlling her breathing as she gathered strength to attempt another flip. No point in waiting until she was higher; once the cold got into her muscles, the maneuver would be impossible. Perhaps she could get lucky and activate the valve that would release the helium for a safe descent. 

The sudden crack of a rifle disturbed her reverie. She looked down into the blackness of the forest. Steed must have survived the explosion! 

But what in the world did he think he was doing? If a rifle bullet hit the balloon, the polyethylene film would be torn to shreds. She would drop like a rock, her body smashed beyond recognition on impact with the ground. She heard a metallic ping from the dish antenna over her head, followed by another rifle crack. Emma felt a warm trickle of blood run past her wrist. How had that happened? She hadn't been shot. 

Emma looked up toward the instrument pack. The shots had damaged the case and the antenna; shrapnel from the disintegrating disc had cut the back of her hand. Her eyes widened in hope—the metal fragments had pierced the balloon as well! 

She held her breath for a moment as she waited for results. After a few seconds, there could be no doubt; she was no longer getting colder. The ground was difficult to discern in the encroaching night so she used the treeline to judge her rate of descent. 

Not good. At this speed, she would still suffer two broken legs when she hit the ground—or worse, if she hit a tree. Emma resolved to inform Steed that he would be expected to visit her in the hospital every day for getting her into this situation. If only he had let her fight before she was hit by the tranquilizer dart. Still, he had made an excellent shot, or a lucky one, to hit the instrument pack from that distance. 

Emma waggled her feet in joy as she realized that she was falling into a clearing. If she tucked and rolled correctly on impact, she just might escape serious injury. Then she caught the reflection of starlight on a shallow puddle, and realized that she was landing in a bog. 

_It's a fen,_ she told herself. _Fed by groundwater, not rainwater._

At least she wouldn't suffer the pain of broken legs before she was pulled down into the cool, smothering grip of the fen. Dr. Cephalus had been right. Her death would be by suffocation, after all. Or did one technically drown in a fen? 

Her feet hit the muck with a sickening slosh, and she twisted onto her side to avoid spraining her ankles, for what it was worth. The balloon was still in motion, dragging her across the surface. She embraced a flutter of hope that she might be pulled close enough to the edge to walk out of the bog, but that was dashed when the instrument pack containing the ThinkFast hit the surface and started sinking. 

Emma was laid out flat on her back, with both hands stretched tightly over her head by the main hawser. She strained her muscles uselessly in an attempt to get her hands down to remove the gag. If only she could shout for help, someone might rescue her before she sank. As she struggled, her hips begin to slide downward. 

The mire was already starting to ooze over her sides when she heard voices approach, followed by a shrill bark. 

-oOo-

The fat hunter stopped at the fen's edge to gawk at the still-glowing weather balloon. In the dim light, he could just make out a shape on the surface. 

"What's that next to the spaceship?" he whispered. 

"It must be an alien," the thin hunter announced breathlessly. 

The figure in the bog vigorously shook its head from side to side and a muffled noise came from it, oddly high-pitched. 

The thin man gasped in astonishment. "You hear that?" 

The fat hunter nodded in awe. "I _told_ you they didn't have any mouths!" 

"How's it making that sound?" 

"Must be a snout that works like a kazoo." 

The thin hunter squinted in the darkness. "I think it's wearin' a skin-tight spacesuit." 

The figure thrust its chest out as far as it could to make use of the backlighting provided by the balloon. The poachers finally recognized the curvy silhouette. 

"It's a woman!" the thin hunter declared. 

A grin crossed the fat hunter's face. The terrier started barking, spinning in circles in front of him. 

"Not just any woman," the fat man replied. "It's Scruffles' lady!" 

-oOo-


	7. Down The Rabbit Hole

**Chapter 7**

Steed leaned over the map table in the Wing Commander's office at RAF Bentwaters. A search-and-rescue helicopter had been dispatched to Rendlesham Forest fifteen minutes ago, but he didn't hold out much hope. A pencil line on the chart marked Mrs. Peel's projected path allowing for wind direction. There was no word from the search team yet, but by now the odds of them intercepting the balloon during its ascent were zero. 

After Steed had made his phone call from the Brindleshire Institute, some military police had arrived to take Dr. Cephalus into custody. They had splinted the doctor's leg and forced him to assemble the auxiliary control unit, although it was undoubtedly too late. Even now, Cephalus continued to be in complete denial of the failure of his neuroaccelerator. Steed started to wonder if the Brainiacs and interface helmets might be a sham as well, just as Mrs. Peel had proposed. 

The control box had been sending out the DESCEND signal for over an hour now, but at this point it could only succeed in lowering Mrs. Peel's lifeless body back to earth, along with the irradiated ThinkFast. Just a few pieces of evidence to be used in some future trial. 

The Wing Commander entered the room and smiled at Steed beneath his thick moustache. 

"We've recovered an alien from a downed UFO," he announced wryly. 

Steed's heart jumped as the door opened. A corporal wearing a helmeted flight suit led in a terrier on a leash. Steed sighed in disappointment. 

"Spumante," he declared sadly as he bent over to greet the dog. The terrier licked his hand and Steed managed a pained smile. 

The silence was broken by the sound of a throat clearing. Steed followed the leash upward and noticed something was decidedly three-dimensional about the corporal's uniform. Soft brown eyes peered back at him through the visor. The corporal pulled off the helmet, allowing the auburn hair to spill out from underneath. 

"Expecting someone else, Major?" she said in a sultry tone. 

Steed's eyes lit up. "Mrs. Peel!" He rose and slipped his hands affectionately to her waist. "You're alive!" 

"Small thanks to you!" she scolded. "I could easily have died." 

"I'm sorry. The explosion... the control unit was destroyed... I—" Steed got control of his emotions and gave her a calm grin. "I tried everything I could think of." 

"Hmmpf." Emma pretended to be indignant, but gave him a warm smile just the same. "Lucky for me that Spumi still had some neuroaccelerator coursing through his veins. He knew what to do." She walked over and looped the leash over the arm of a chair. "I guess you were right. The ThinkFast really must work." 

Steed shook his head. "Don't discount your instincts so quickly. I drank some of the ThinkFast. It didn't do anything for me—no high-speed brain activity, no flashes of insight. And Cephalus claimed the effects only last for a half-hour, anyway," he added. "No, if Spumi saved you, he must have been acting on his own, just being clever." 

The terrier was wearing its trademark smirk. Emma solemnly knelt down and stroked the dog's fur. 

Suddenly she gushed, "Good boy, Scruffles!" 

Steed raised an eyebrow as he looked at the Wing Commander. 

"Scruffles?" he repeated. "Perhaps the thin air still has her a bit scrambled." 

-oOo-

Steed guided the 10-inch wheels of the Moke over the rutted earth in the clearing near Rendlesham Forest. The headlights showed the field that had been scathed by the explosion of the demolition charge. 

"More of your handiwork, Mrs. Peel," Steed said jovially. "Good thing we still have the Moke to get around in." 

"If anything's happened to my Elan, I'm confiscating your Bentley," she smirked. 

Steed gave her a sideways glance. She looked surprisingly sexy in the flight suit, particularly with the zipper dropping lazily towards her cleavage. Apparently her leathers would need extensive maintenance before they could be worn again. She gave him a puzzled look. 

"Why are we using this entrance?" she asked. 

"Because I never had a chance to discover where the freight elevator lets out into the Brindleshire Institute," he explained. "And you were the one who wanted to re-examine the 'Cavern of the Brainiacs.'" 

"True," she admitted. Emma let the terrier worm its way into her lap from the back seat. 

"What do you expect to find there?" Steed asked. 

"Answers," she declared. "I want to dissect the electronics and look in all of the rooms we didn't have a chance to explore when Cephalus and his goons were around." 

"Zombie goons," Steed corrected wryly. He pulled the car to a stop next to the trapdoor. Emma held a bright electric lantern as they repeated the procedure they had used earlier to enter the access tunnel. 

The terrier trotted slowly in the lead as they worked their way toward the secret chamber. The portable light shone at least ten feet in each direction; there was no need to hold hands this time. 

"What about Cephalus?" Emma asked. 

"Last I saw, he seemed to be having a breakdown," Steed answered. "And a broken leg. The MP's probably had to haul him away in a straitjacket." He arched his brow. "Do they make crutches for straitjackets?" 

"And what did you do with the Brainiacs?" 

"Sent all the ones we could find to the local hospital," he said. "Perhaps we can question them after the hypnotic drugs have worn off." 

The terrier waited for Steed and Emma to catch up. Their footsteps started to echo strangely as they approached the chamber entrance. The light from the ceiling fluorescents spilled harshly into the tunnel opening; Emma switched off the lantern. Steed straightened his bowler and gripped his umbrella near one end, ready for action. 

"Something's different," he announced. 

The two cautiously rounded the final turn and peeked into the cavern. The floor stretched before them to the opposite rock wall. Emma strode into the center of the chamber. 

"It's empty," she gasped in amazement. "The couches, the helmets, the oxygen canisters, the ThinkFast—everything's gone." 

"Not everything," Steed mused. "There's one clue left." He speared something with the tip of his umbrella and held it up for her scrutiny. 

Emma took the gum wrapper and sniffed it. "Darjeeling," she remarked. 

Steed nodded. "It seems like all trace of the Brindleshire Institute has been expunged." 

"The Gum-Chewing Man," she frowned. "Maybe Cephalus wasn't a diabolical mastermind after all," she said evenly. "Just someone working for your side that went a bit too far in chasing his research." 

A sudden squeak from one of the side corridors caused them both to spin around. Two men in coveralls emerged wheeling a large piece of electronic equipment on a dolly, heading towards the freight elevator. Another crew followed, this time carting away a magnetic tape drive. 

Emma narrowed her eyes. She recognized the devices from her trip to Bletchley. 

"A giant electronic computer," she pronounced. 

A voice came from the side tunnel, "With underground labs to make the parts." 

Emma watched as a man in a white lab coat entered the chamber. He had short blond hair and wore glasses. 

"Dr. Alling," she declared. "How did you get here so quickly?" 

He pulled out a gun and aimed it at her. 

"I see," Emma commented flatly. She crossed her arms and looked at Steed. "I've got a new rule from now on when dealing with your friends," she said. "Trust no one." 

"My friends?" he protested innocently. 

Emma whirled again on Alling. "So you're in league with Cephalus?" 

"Hardly. More like he's in league with me." The doctor gestured at the equipment being wheeled past. "This is my computer. The Sphinx Mark I. Monolithic solid-state architecture. I had planned to cart it away while you and Steed were imprisoned, but you broke out too quickly. Luckily, you wasted time flushing that green syrup down the sewer, so I had plenty of time to prepare." 

Steed turned to Emma. "Feeling like Alice down the rabbit hole?" He addressed Alling, "No wonder you knew so much about the Brainiacs." 

Alling nodded. "In a way, they were my creation." He straightened his glasses. "You're a woman of science, Mrs. Peel. Quite honestly, I'm surprised you were so easily duped. Neural interfaces? Human computers? How could you fall for that rot?" 

Steed could feel the heat of Mrs. Peel's anger as it radiated next to him. "So what of Cephalus?" he asked. 

"Cadmon has been bonkers for some time, ever since his attempts to create a neuroaccelerator failed. But what better window dressing to hide the development of a supercomputer, than behind a crackpot playing around with drugs and helmets?" 

The doctor gave Steed a smirk. "Earlier, I told you he was insane. Really and truly. I humored him with his weather balloons and enriched oxygen feeds. The original 'Cadmon Effect' was nothing more than sunspot activity, but no one could convince that loon of anything. So I thought, 'why not use him?' By the time any government agent penetrated that madman's charade, I could pack up the Sphinx and move it elsewhere." 

A cart went by, laden down with computer punch cards and boxes of printout. Alling continued his explanation. 

"In the meantime, I secretly operated my Sphinx computer, with its advanced logic circuits, and achieved massive breakthroughs in the field of computing and code-breaking." 

"You couldn't convince the Ministry to fund your efforts," Steed ventured. "But the Soviets were more than happy to purchase descrambled Hazard Codes." 

"Indeed." 

Emma frowned. "Then what did the Array calculate?" 

"I think they just lay there and got high on the absinthe," Alling snorted. "I would intercept the lot of them before they could report back to Cephalus, giving them the true Hazard Codes decrypted by the Sphinx. That way, the good doctor could stay secure in his own little world, thinking he had a human computer. He never even noticed my own men mixed in with his Brainiacs in the dormitories. Nor the fact that I diverted most of the money that came from the Soviets. He just thought of me as a silent partner, the one who brokered the deal to fund his research." 

_Logical but cruel,_ Emma thought. 

"So why are you still here, telling us your scheme?" she asked. "Surely, you should be on the run, escaping the hangman's noose." 

Alling smiled. "I've made a deal with the Gum-Chewing Man." 

Emma could barely control her fury as she wadded up the tea-scented wrapper in her hand. 

"So the Ministry is just going to turn their heads to kidnapping, attempted murder, treason..." 

"It seems that they've been most impressed with the performance of the Sphinx," the doctor countered. "They're even letting me keep the funds that I received over the months for the Hazard Codes." 

Emma lunged at the scientist. Alling dodged and nervously leveled his weapon at her. The terrier barked as Steed barely managed to wrap his arms around Emma's waist to hold her back. 

"Still thirsty for revenge, Mrs. Peel?" Steed asked. 

"These men strapped me to a high altitude balloon and tried to send me to my death." 

He struggled to restrain her. "I'll take that as a 'yes'." 

Alling took several steps backward, in spite of the fact that he held the gun. "Believe me Mrs. Peel, I never thought Cephalus would be so obsessed with his project that he would try to murder you. The old chap must have finally snapped." He moved guardedly towards the cavern exit. "But all's well that ends well." The doctor ducked into the corridor and ran towards the freight elevator. 

"All's well?" she shouted after him. Steed had loosened his grip, but she made no effort to follow the doctor. Instead, Emma leaned back against Steed and moved her head close to his, a gesture that disconcerted him more than an attempt at pursuit would have. 

"I think I'll pay our Gum-Chewing Man a visit," she mused. 

"You'll never find him," Steed cautioned. "Best let it rest, Mrs. Peel." He took the wadded-up wrapper from her palm. "Still, careless of him to leave this lying about." 

"It wasn't carelessness," Emma countered. She left Steed's arms and paced over to stare thoughtfully down the passage. 

"It was a challenge," she said. "To me." 

-oOo-

Emma was dressed casually in a silk blouse and knee-length skirt as she lounged on the sofa in Steed's apartment, the dog curled up on the rug at her feet. Steed was over at the liquor cart, pouring a drink; Emma watched him as the terrier let out a contented sigh. 

"Think fast," Steed said as he tossed a vial of glowing green liquid at the couch cushion next to her. With catlike reflexes, Emma caught it in mid-air. 

"The phony neuro-accelerator?" she asked. 

"Not necessarily phony," Steed countered. "Maybe it just wouldn't work on my chemistry. After all, it did seem to work on Spumi." The dog perked up his ears at the mention of his name. 

Emma wrinkled her mouth. "And what would I want this for?" 

"You uncovered it. I thought you might want to keep the rest of the sample, in case of emergency." Steed gave her a playful grin. "You could wear it in a locket around your neck, and when the going gets tough, just take a quick sip." 

Emma snorted. "I already have all the brain power I need. You, on the other hand..." She tossed the vial back to him. 

"Thank you, Mrs. Peel. I'll just leave it here next to the crème de menthe, in case I ever have to mix up a 'Cerebral Stinger'." 

"Methinks it would be more of a 'Placebo Cocktail'," she teased. The dog had jumped onto the sofa, thinking an impromptu game of catch had broken out. Emma smiled as she lowered the terrier back to the floor. 

"So I guess this is no longer a Zed File," she said. "File it under 'B', for BRAINIAC. Or Bletchley." 

"Shh," Steed cautioned. "You're not supposed to know that name. If you ever need to refer to our cryptography branch in the future, use its code name—Station X." 

"X, eh?" she smirked. "So it turns out this was an X-File, after all." Emma took the drink that Steed handed her. 

"This is the second time this year you thought I was dead," she mentioned casually. 

"Good thing I had my guru Narayana reverse my suicide training," Steed replied. "Otherwise, upon suspecting your death, I would have lapsed into a coma and joined you." 

"There's something romantic about dying together," Emma commented breezily. "Like Romeo and Juliet." 

"Hero and Leander," Steed added. 

"Pyramus and Thisbe," she parried. "So it's agreed, then. When we go, we go together." 

Steed gave her a cocky grin. "Speak for yourself, Mrs. Peel. I have no intention of going at all." 

"Oh?" 

"I have a plan to fool the ferryman." 

Emma sipped from her drink. "How did you come up with this master scheme?" 

"It's been a lifelong endeavor," Steed said jauntily. "When the time comes, I'm positive I can convince the guardian of the Underworld that I'm actually Bacchus." He raised his glass to her with a wink. "Would you like to help me practice my impression?" 

Emma smiled and beckoned him over by patting the cushion next to her. 

-oOo-

In the swamps of Suffolk, the atmosphere was quiet and serene. Several ducks floated on the mirror surface of the pond, randomly dipping their bills below the water to pick off insects. In the nearby marshland, a glowing green substance had pooled near the reeds. A large drake mistook the scum for algae and lapped it up. 

The duck suddenly lifted from the surface of the pond, flying on an erratic course towards the shore. Two menacing gunbarrels peeked out from under a heavily-vegetated shutter that was propped open by a metal rod. Behind the triggers, one man was too skinny for his clothes; the other, too fat. 

The drake zigzagged in an evasive maneuver, then flew straight at the blind and knocked out the prop. The metal door slammed shut with a clang, knocking the guns out of the hands of the two hunters. 

"Cor!" the thin one exclaimed. "How'd he know to do that?" 

-oOo-


End file.
